Welp, I've had a thoroughly cathartic past few weeks.  I did a lot of "coming clean," and not just with the blog.  I also decided it was time to open up about my miscarriage.  To me, that felt a whole lot like strapping myself into a rickety zipline and hurling myself through the jungle whilst praying the thing doesn't snap just to spite me:

Personally, I know of at least five other women my age who have suffered miscarriage.  Two of them do not speak of the miscarriage at all, one has a supportive husband who enables her to vent in short bursts, and the other two haven't even felt comfortable sharing their miscarriages with their significant others - the fathers of those little saints.  

I've tried to encourage through personal contact, but I have done a terrible job of leading by example.  How can I suggest opening up to others when I find the task so incredibly difficult?

Thus, I embarked on the task of opening up about Myla to my two SILs.  

To this point, I had only ever told my MIL what had happened.  I didn't know if she'd mentioned it to anyone else.  I asked, and she said she'd only told Danielle.  

Thus, first up on the docket was Danielle, the pretty blonde you see to the right.  She's my age and has a little girl, herself (the gorgeous and ever lovable niece you've seen me post about before).  Since she already had some idea of my miscarriage, I messaged her through Facebook (since we were having an ongoing discussion there anyway).  I apologized for not coming to her - in person - to tell her, myself, sooner.  I then asked if she'd told Nikki (the pretty redhead to the left) so I could do so if she hadn't.

The entire time I was writing my message to Dani, I was shaking.  I couldn't word anything correctly and finally gave up trying.  I clicked "send" and just said a prayer asking the Holy Spirit to get my point across for me since I was too emotionally incoherent.  That worked out well because she responded with support.  She had not told Nikki (which surprised the crackers outta me).  

Thus, I knew I'd have to bite the bullet and do it myself.  That's how poor Nicole became the first person I explained things to face-to-face.

That's right, folks.  I'd somehow managed to go more than a year without having this conversation with anyone without the aid of a computer.  Sure, I mentioned the miscarriage briefly to my MIL and a very tiny number of friends, but I'd never had the full conversation with anyone - BY DESIGN.

I never wanted to have this conversation with anyone.  To be honest, I didn't think it was possible.  How was I supposed to have a conversation when I could barely breathe, let alone speak, when it comes to Myla?

I stumbled over myself as I made last minute plans to talk to Nikki before I changed my mind. Fear is crippling, and though I wasn't afraid of her treating me poorly, I was terribly afraid of showing such vulnerability.  Tears?  Incoherent strings of babble?  A very plausible moment of pushing things onto the floor in outright frustration?  None of those options are particularly appealing to me, but if I wanted to help other women, I'd have to start by helping myself.  

So, shaking like a rusty old washer chewing through your favorite comforter, I walked into her office and promptly realized I had no idea how to actually begin the conversation.  Heck, she wasn't even sure why I'd asked to meet her, so I can only imagine what she must've thought when I started choking on sounds that refused to form words.  

I'm still frustrated with myself for that.  

Annoyed at myself, I just came out with it.  To her credit, she didn't bat an eye.  She steadied herself on both feet and crossed her arms as if bracing for impact.  I think she knew I needed to get through this, so she patiently waited until I'd gotten it out.  When I had, she walked around the desk and hugged me.  She is her mother, that one.  She didn't have two seconds to process things, herself, but she made the move towards me just the same.  

Again, it's moments like this that I know I married up.  You don't just marry a man - you marry his family.  It's one of the reasons I knew John was for me... I fell in love with them right alongside him.  

Anyway, after trying to make sure I'd given her all the pertinent info, I realized that I'd done it - I'd come clean!  That was a liberating thing, because I knew I could then take that back to those friends of mine struggling to find their voice.  

And I was finally honest with the people I care about.  There's only one person left who should know if he doesn't already - my FIL.  

In all honesty, I don't know that I'm able to say anything to him.  Of all the people I feel I'm disappointing most by not having more children, he and my mom top the list.  Telling him that he'd had another chance at a grandchild seems cruel, especially with all the loss the poor guy has experienced this past year.  

But one step at a time.  For now, I've inched forward Neil Armstrong style.  

And it feels pretty darn good.  

I encourage those of you who struggle with miscarriage to voice your feelings.  It's a terrible burden to carry alone, and there are people out there who love you enough to WANT to carry it alongside you.  

I speak from experience now.  :)  

Plus, don't our children deserve to be made known?  

My mother-in-law threw me a lifeline this weekend.  

We were sitting around the dinner table with our neighbor and friend, Daisy.  She's got two little girls, and she was joking about how she'd never be able to mother boys.  

My MIL joined in to say that boys and girls are both blessings. She pointed out how lucky she'd been having two girls in addition to her son (and my husband), John.  

The conversation then turned towards the difficulty of having multiple children due to rising costs of childcare.  Daisy voiced her appreciation for her 2nd daughter, a surprise conception, while my MIL voiced appreciation for her grandkids.  She was glad to have had one of each (my neice, Alliya, and my son, Vince).  

I knew Daisy was itching to ask me if I ever want a little girl to "balance things out."  It's a question that's been posed to me on numerous occasions.  "Are you gonna try for a girl?"  "When are you gonna make Vincent a big brother?"

I was bracing for it.  Daisy's eyes locked onto mine and I tried to steady myself by focusing all my energy into spinning one of Vincent's plastic toys over and over again in my hand.  

Luckily, my MIL realized where the conversation was going and threw a lifeline my way once she realized precisely how precarious my position was.  She said, "Children are a blessing no matter what.  Boy, girl, three, two or one, they're all blessings, right?"

Daisy promptly turned her attention to my MIL to agree.  

My MIL then deftly offered Daisy some wine as I ran to "check on the kids."

I was quietly grateful.  I knew my MIL realized - with nary a second to spare - that I was about to be exposed in a very uncomfortable, hurtful way.  Daisy would never intend to hurt me, mind you; I don't think anyone is really that malicious.  These questions just have a tendency to spring forth naturally in conversations between women.  I don't take offense to them.  I know some folks get upset at others asking such "personal" questions, but I don't think they're personal.  I don't think they stem from a person's desire to snoop.  I think people who ask those questions are just excited about the prospect of children being brought forth; I can't fault them for that! 

I felt such gratitude in that moment, though, because my MIL recognized an unspoken need and immediately moved in to diffuse the situation - to protect me from unnecessary awkwardness.  She didn't have to be so thoughtful, but she was.  

That never would have happened had I not finally broken down and told her about Myla.  

Just an interesting turn of events that again made me appreciative of the family I married into. 

:)

Vincent and I spent the weekend down the shore with family and friends.  Usually we hang out as a group on the beach, but due to the rain, our neighbors ended up coming over to our house and my in-laws hosted an impromptu barbecue.  

It was a blast.  Our neighbors, Pete and Daisy, have two little girls named Jasmine and Lily. Jasmine is Alliya's age, so the two of them are best buddies.  Lily is only two, so she and Vincent are a little pair.  The four of them play well together, too, but they definitely tend to break up into two distinct groups.  

Anyhow, when my FIL brought Jasmine over in the morning to give Pete and Daisy a break, Vincent was angry that Lily hadn't come, too.  He didn't understand why she needed to nap when she should've been having fun with him.  Later, when Pete showed up (also without Lily), Vincent didn't even bother greeting him.  He demanded to know why he dared to come over without bringing his "best friend in the whole wide world."  

Finally, Lily woke up from her nap and Daisy brought her over to join the rest of us.  Vincent was in his glories.  He jumped off the couch, rushed over to her and gave her a giant hug.  "LILY!" he cried.  "We gotta play!"

This is what the two of them look like for the rest of the time they're together:

Vincent leading her by the hand everywhere, checking to make sure she's got everything she needs (or does everything she's supposed to do before she gets a snack - ha).  They also both tend to scramble if you try to sneak a picture of them being cute together. Rascals.  

Later on in the day, Lily settled into my FIL's lap.  She calls him "Uncle John" and she knows she's got him wrapped around her adorable little finger!  Anyway, it was so sweet to see how they were interacting together.  I snapped this picture of her giving me a toothy grin:

Vince is right behind her with his back turned, but Lord, that kid won't let Lily out of his sight for very long.  It's so cute!  

I admit, however, that I got a bit wallow-y when I wondered what it'd be like for Myla to be sitting in his lap.  Vince is such a good big brother to Lily (and his other little cousins), I feel sad that he didn't get the chance to interact with Myla the same way.  

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind until later that evening when we took the kids out for ice cream.  Again Lily was sitting on my FIL's lap while I had Jasmine, Alliya and Vince huddled up in front of me.  Lily was successfully convincing my FIL to hand over all of his ice cream to her, and he was happily obliging, looking like the proudest, happiest person in the universe.

It made me sad to think that we'd never provide him with the grandchildren he takes such delight in.  I felt guilty... like I'd failed something on an intrinsic level.  He wasn't doing anything to accuse me or even make me feel badly.  He likely didn't even notice I was there watching him enjoy Lily's manipulations for ice cream.  It was my own brokenness projected and magnified by my intense longing for not only Myla, but all the children I've envisioned and subsequently been denied.  I understood that, but it didn't lessen my feelings of inadequacy, failure and sadness.

I didn't want to further my upset, so I turned away and imagined myself making a fist and physically punching back the knot in my throat until I could breathe without crying.  

*Sigh*

Sorry if I sound miserable or depressed.  I'm not.  I'm certainly sad now and again when this sort of situation arises, but I'm trying to be honest with how this sort of thing affects my daily life.  Myla is always in my thoughts, so my imagination sometimes puts her into situations like this.  Is it logical?  Probably not.  Then again, I think it's human to always wonder "What if?"  

In this situation, it's obviously a moot point, but I guess we're so used to exercising our God-given gift of creativity that we can't help ourselves sometimes.  

Losing a child (or even the opportunity for children) is a terrible cross.  It's hard for folks who haven't been in this situation to understand how all-encompassing it is.  I don't write these things to remind people of my struggle, but I do write to remind folks that this struggle is real and it's daily (not just for me, but for the many, MANY other men and women who struggle with this sort of cross).  

Tread softly and with much, much compassion, because even when we're trying our best to look past our sorrow to count our blessings, we can't help but hear echos of our indignant humanity insisting "What if?"

My SIL just posted this photo of Alliya and I.  As soon as I saw it, I recognized the setting. This was taken as John, Vince and I were leaving our cousin's wedding.  I sought out Alliya and knelt down to give her a big hug.  I wanted to thank her for giving me the rose out on the dance floor.  I'm so glad my FIL caught this moment because to me, it conveys so much more than Aunt Gina smiling at Alliya.  It's me - on my knees with gratitude - beaming up at my source of Divine Providence and Consolation... my hands around her waist and her hands on my shoulders.  

I love that she's in Blessed Mother blue to boot.  

:)

Last night, we celebrated the wedding of our cousin, Ryan. 

Something really, really special happened out of no place, and my heart is still incredibly grateful.

Vince and I were taking a rest from the dance floor when I heard the beginning chords of "Can't Help Falling in Love With You" by Elvis.  

I thought it'd be nice to scoop Vince into my arms for a slow dance.  As we began rocking to the music, I felt John come up and put his arms around us.

Instantly, I had this inner yearning for him to be dancing with Myla.  I was struck with missing her fiercely.  I should be dancing with Vince, and he should be dancing with Myla.  

Suddenly, as if on cue, our niece, Alliya, tugged on my dress and said, "Here you go."

She held in her hands a perfect, pink rose.  

I took it from her and handed it to Vincent.  Immediately he began kissing it over and over and over again.  

Just when I began grieving being unable to physically hold her in my arms, Heaven sent me a rose in the vein of Myla's namesake, St. Therese, who is still known to shower these flowers to those who ask for her intercession.  

I clutched Vincent to myself and felt the tears of gratitude spill.  Vince kept that rose with him for the rest of the night.  He fell asleep with it on the way home.  When I finally tucked him away in bed, he wanted to make sure that "his flower" was safe in water.  We put it in front of the Blessed Mother statue on his dresser. 

What a blessed gift when I needed it so.

Thank you, God, for giving me these little kisses from my daughter.  Myla Therese, you be extra sweet to Sister Therese for me, okay?  One day I'll return all of these kisses a thousandfold.  I love you, sweetie.  

While I was at the park with Vince today, he walked up behind a toddler on a swing and tried to push her so she could go higher.  The toddler's grandmother said, "Aren't you a nice little boy!  You must be a big brother, huh?  Do you have a little sister that you push on swings?"

It's doubtful Vince actually processed her question, but he answered, "Yes" just the same. My heart didn't break so much as sigh at the sight of him trying to be brotherly to this little girl.  

The truth is, I don't speak to Vincent about Myla.  I'm not sure he'd understand anyway. He still confuses familial terms like "brother" and "sister" for "son" or "daughter."  That's okay, though.  One day he'll know he's got a little sister in Heaven waiting for him.  

A reader who has experienced miscarriage asked me if I spoke about Myla to anyone outside my circle of close friends.  The truth is, I don't actually speak about Myla to anyone - not even on the blog so much anymore.

It's not that I don't think about her every day; I do.  It's not that I don't still feel intense emotions about her short life; I do.  Just the other day, I saw that show Say Yes to the Dress and when one of the brides-to-be said "Yes" and her mom, all teary-eyed from seeing her daughter dressed up in her bridal attire, hugged and kissed her,k I felt the pang of loss in realizing I'd never have that moment with Myla.  I allowed my heart to clench into itself as it braced for the tsunami of anger, grief and frustration that would slowly fade to resignation, acceptance and even appreciation. 

But I dunno.  I still feel awkward bringing her up.  I'm not embarrassed by her or my experience.  I'm not ashamed.  I am, however, unwilling to open myself up to public scrutiny, I guess.  I'm unsure of my ability to handle the emotions of others (sorrow, awkwardness, pity, frustration) while still juggling my own.  So rather than attempt, I remain silent.  I don't speak of her to John, to my mother, not even to my closest friends.

Mind you, I'm sure I could should the absolute need arise, but I haven't felt that driving necessity in a long time.  I am thankful for that. 

However, I'd like to single out two friends who've given me incredible gifts:  Theresa and Lien.

And yeah, I'm posting your pictures.  :) 

You guys have seen me talk about Theresa a few times.  She's the one who has the obsession with pink (and purses).  She's also the mother of that beautiful little munch above, Maddy.  She and I have been together since Freshman year of HS when I invited her to my lunch table because I was sick of eating by myself.  I even feigned interest in the Backstreet Boys (had NO idea who they were at the time) in an effort to drum up conversation.  

Anyway, Theresa had just had Maddy when I went through the miscarriage.  Like everyone else, she found out about it through the blog because, quite frankly, I couldn't physically have that conversation out loud.  I still feel like a coward that my good friends (and mother) had to find out in that manner, but truthfully it was the only mode of communication I had at the time.

Anyway, as soon as Theresa read the blog, she reached out to me.  She sent me a quick message via FB just to let me know she was there in support.  It wasn't this massive production - just a brief communication that let me know someone was out there grieving with me.  I wasn't alone in my sorrow.

That meant so much to me.  

And since then, Theresa's been the only friend who has openly mentioned her in passing. I'm always slightly taken aback by how easily she slips her into conversation.  She isn't afraid to use Myla's name.  She doesn't seem skittish to bring her up out of the blue.  That sort of acknowledgement of my precious little girl is actually bringing tears to my eyes as I type this.  

So thank you.  Each and every time you did it, I was blessed.  It may have seemed small or even insignificant, but to me, someone who has been starved of any sort of acknowledgement that she existed at all, it was the most comforting, gratifying gift.  

This is Lien.  I know Lien through her sister, Xuan.  I love both of them immensely, but through the years, Lien and I have grown closer simply due to our shared love of family and terrible jokes.  At least that's why I think she keeps me around.

Anyway, she only recently learned of Myla's existence.  She, too, read the blog and reached out.

I had originally shared my blog for very different reasons, but I knew she'd come across the entries about Myla.  I told her I trusted her with the information, because I wouldn't have given her the web address otherwise.  

She scheduled a time to meet (a rarity for us due to where we live and the hours we work). I knew she'd touch on my miscarriage, but I thought the crux of the conversation would center on why I'd sent her the blog in the first place.  While we did talk about that for a bit, she was insistent on discussing Myla (and her disdain for John's handling of things - ha ha). Good old Lien.  Fiesty as hell when she wants to be.

When she brought up Myla, as I knew she would, I tried to make it as painless as possible for her.  An awkward conversation knowing how upsetting the experience was for me, I didn't want her to feel bad or like she'd upset me, so I was very matter-of-fact about everything.  Lawyerly, if you will.  

What she did made me really stop in my tracks, though.  I was eating, trying to keep the conversation going so there weren't any awkward pauses, but she reached over and grabbed my greasy hand.  She looked me square in the eye and forced me to shut up for a hot second while she said, "No.  This is important.  It's a big deal what happened.  I'm really, really sorry.  I cried while reading everything.  I'm really sorry."

That was powerful.  I dunno if Lien realized it, but it was powerful.  She not only gave permission for me to publicly grieve, but demanded the right to experience it alongside me.  

She also reprimanded me - rightly - for disenfranchising her of that right by keeping my miscarriage a secret all this time.  

Well played, Lien.  Well played.  

I appreciated that more than you realize.

This grainy picture from my wedding is probably the last one I have of Theresa, Lien and I together.  They don't really know one another outside of me.  I wonder if they've even thought about each other in the years since they were my bridesmaids. It's funny to think of that.

Both of them have given me incredible gifts by extending themselves in such a generous, loving way.  I didn't think I needed (or could even cope with) such displays of charity.

I appreciate all my friends - I really do.  This particular entry isn't about guilting others or soliciting Myla conversations from anyone else.  I simply wanted to recognize and extend public appreciation for the unique and incredibly special gifts Theresa and Lien gave, completely unprovoked, to let me know they love me, grieve with me, and hope with me for the future.

I love you guys.  Thank you so much for being amazing friends to me.  I appreciate it more than words could ever express.

My MIL made a surprise visit to our house during lunch last week. Vince had been sick, so I was home taking care of him.  She had just flown back in from Florida, and she couldn't wait to see Vincent (whom she hadn't seen in a few weeks).  

It was a really nice surprise.

Vincent was incredulous.  It was the cutest thing to watch him hug her in awe because he thought she was still "on the airplane."  That's what he considers Florida, I guess... an endless string of being on an airplane.  Ha ha!

Anyway, while she was over, we got to talking about the anniversary party I had tentatively tried to put together.  I had briefly discussed via FB messaging why John and I wanted to do one, but when she asked me what spurred on a 7 year party, I felt like it was time to come clean.

I wasn't sure how to start the conversation at first.  I felt awkward and embarrassed, but I wanted to be honest with her.  I mean, how the heck do you start that conversation?  

So I just came out with it.  I told her we had gotten pregnant but miscarried over Alliya's birthday weekend.  She was surprised and didn't quite know what to say, either.  

I kept wanting to say Myla's name, but I couldn't bring myself to taste the words in my mouth.  It was hard enough explaining what had happened... I was afraid that saying her name aloud would be too much, so I kept that to myself.  I did, however, refer to her with the feminine pronoun, and I know my MIL caught that.  

*Sigh*

Now that she knows, I feel like everyone who "should" know does know.  John, my mom, his mom, my two closest friends, my one sister, and likely John's dad through my MIL.  

I think she understands now why I tried to do this when (and as quickly as) I did.  I admitted I was trying to force some happy into an otherwise miserable span of time, and I would rather focus on something entirely separate to celebrate rather than mourn.  

As I said in plenty of previous entries, I love my MIL.  She's a genuinely nice person and loves me as her own daughter.  She's always gone out of her way to make me feel welcome in the family, and I appreciate that more than she realizes.  

And now she knows that Myla is waiting up in Heaven for her one day, too.  

{BIG HUGS} and a heartfelt "Thanks" to those of you who sent messages, e-mails and prayers on Friday.  It turned out to be a wonderful, beautiful day that was far removed from the fear and anxiety I had felt leading up to it.  

No doubt this was a result of your love and prayers.  Thank you!!!

Here are some of the items Vince and I brought to one of our local children's hospitals on Friday.

It was a very fun experience.

Vince had helped pick out the majority of these toys (which is why there are so many Ninja Turtle things for the boys).  The chair that has the stuff piled up is almost exclusively Ninja Turtles.  I kept pulling girly stuff into the basket so they wouldn't feel left out with all the stuff geared to boys!  What a joy it was putting this basket of goodies together, though... especially with Vince.  He understood that he was going to be giving these things to other children to "make them happy."  

After school, I picked him up we drove over to the hospital.  He was excitedly chatting about how he was going to share all "his toys."  It made me really happy that he was so excited about our little adventure.  That he willingly participated in charitable giving made me feel like I was doing something right as a parent.  God bless his little generous heart.  

When we got there, security had us wait in the lobby for a nurse to come for us.  While in the lobby, Vince had a field day hopping on and around the turtle statues in the waiting area.

Before we'd even gotten upstairs, Vincent began trying to share the toys with random children in the lobby.  One little boy, in particular, drew Vincent's attention.  His name was Antonio and he was 3 years old.  Antonio was there with his mother, and Vincent hurriedly ran up to him and said, "Hi!  I'm Vincent.  What is you name?"

(Eventually we'll get his parts of speech right...)

The little boy shied away behind his mother.  His mom smiled at Vince and said, "He's Antonio."

Then she gently pushed Antonio towards Vincent and said, "C'mon, Antonio, say 'Hi' to your new friend!"

Vince didn't wait to hear a "Hi."  He just started rambling off, "Hi Ann-toe-nee-o.  Do you want to share with my toys?  I give some to you!"

And without hesitating, he rummaged through our bags until he came upon a set of blocks. I stopped him from handing them off until I asked his mother if it would be alright.  

She looked confused so I said, "It's okay.  We're here today specifically to donate these toys.  Would it be okay if Vincent gave Antonio the blocks?"

His mom nodded her head and smiled down at Antonio.  She said, "Look, Antonio, blocks! You love blocks!  Thank your new friend."

Antonio was quite baffled that he was being given blocks.  He reached out happily for them, but wasn't sure if he should open them or not.  Vince made the decision for him and began to pull at the box.

I said, "Hold on, Vince.  You gotta ask his mom if that's OK."

Vince stopped and looked at Antonio's mom.  She shook her head yes, and Vince went to work opening the box.  He and Antonio played for about thirty seconds before Vince decided he wanted to give more toys to other kids.  

I was beginning to worry they'd be gone before the nurse came to collect us!

Luckily she arrived a few minutes later and we took our goodies upstairs.  I don't have any pictures of the joy behind those doors for obvious reasons (patient privacy being chief among them), but suffice to say the smiles and hugs and laughter will remain etched in my heart forever.  

I really think Vince gained so much from the experience, and I know the kids (and their families) enjoyed seeing him bounce around like a mini-Santa Claus.

We gave a different set of books / toys to another nurse so she could take them to the kids too sick for us to visit with, then it was time to go.

All in all, it was a fantastic experience.  It really was.  I highly recommend volunteering your time at a children's hospital if at all possible.  There is just SUCH joy there.  The children, though sick, have such joyful, loving hearts.  And they're SO appreciative of even tiny gestures like coloring books or matchbox cars.  What's more, their families instantly welcome you as part of their circle.  They, too, are so beyond gracious for the time you're willing to spend with them and their children - I was incredibly moved.  They are a special group of people.

Please keep them in your prayers this Lent.  <3

I've tried writing this out a few times.  I almost feel silly for admitting it, but each time I've tried, my fingers shook so badly that I just gave up.  

Tomorrow, March 28th, would have been Myla's due date.  

Instead of looking forward to this date with love, excitement and baby chatter, I've lived in a bubble of silence, grief and terror.  

I was absolutely terrified of tomorrow, but I haven't told that to anyone.  No one.  Even the thought of bringing it up caused me to shake with anxiety.  Too many emotions and not enough control is a recipe for tears, so I requested off from work a while back expecting to spend Friday hiding in my bed away from the world.  At least there I could cry in peace.  Under my covers I could give vent to the very real, very present grief that still exists in my heart for her, my sweet baby girl who flew off to Heaven before I got the chance to meet her.  

However, the last few weeks of mental preparation have led me down a different path altogether.  I decided that hiding away in my bed was a very selfish thing to do.  It was also, in my mind, very ungrateful.  After all, God granted me the blessing of another child. Not only did He grant me the grace of another child, He granted me the grace of a Saint. He took her to Heaven before she'd ever know pain, sadness or disappointment.  He gave to her everything a mother could ever hope for: love, immeasurable joy, and life eternal.  He even went out of His way to ensure John would come to know Myla.  To allow my grief to blind me to those gifts is an ungrateful thing indeed.

So what was I to do?  How could I sidestep my broken heart on the day that taunted me with the one whom I lost?

I e-mailed a local children's hospital.  I filled out paperwork to become a volunteer.  I purchased a whole bunch of children's joke books, coloring books, pop-up books and small toys and I put them aside for March 28th.

I decided that instead of mourning that she was taken from me, I'll celebrate that she was given to me at all.  

That I held her for even a few short weeks is a blessing.  That she'll remain a part of me forever... that I have her waiting in Heaven to greet me... that she's always looking on us with love and prayer... that she's happy to intercede for us always and in all things... these are all graces I should be grateful for.  I won't allow fear of the 28th blind me to those blessings.

Thus, the 28th has become something I've timidly begun looking forward to.  I'm still scared I'll react differently when tomorrow rolls around, but knowing I've got folks already looking forward to getting a dose of fun will likely make it easier for me to push past the fear and reach out with love.  I don't want to disappoint them.  

Plus, I feel it's only fair that I repay God's kindness in some small way.  Bringing joy to His other children is a pretty good way, in my mind, to do that.  I'm sure Myla approves.

Thanks for listening, guys.  I appreciate it.

Today was Nanny's funeral.  She passed away last week surrounded by her children.

God is good in that He allowed her to let go while holding the hands of those who loved her so much.  

She is at peace.  

Throughout my vigils while she was in the hospital or in hospice care, I would pray with her.  I'd say, "Nanny, offer up everything as Purgatory on earth.  This way, when you see Jesus come for you, you can fly right to Him.  You fly RIGHT TO HIM."

She opened her eyes at one point and I knew that she understood.  As the priest said today at her funeral, Nanny's path to Heaven was well-worn with prayer.  She knew Jesus and no doubt offered up her last moments in union with Him.  I really believe she went straight to Heaven as a result.  

The funeral was held at St. Edmond's again - just like Uncle Billy's.  Nanny, too, was lucky to have her final Mass said in such a beautiful church.

I was asked to do the 2nd Reading and General Intercessions.  You folks know I don't like going into the sanctuary for any reason (so I gave up duties as a lector), but I didn't want to turn down my mother-in-law when she asked.  I willingly offered myself for any and all roles they wanted me to handle.  One less thing on their plate to worry about...

The reading was fine.  The funeral intercessions always give me a tough time because they focus heavily on the grieving family.  I had to read them at my own Grandmom's funeral, and I remember faltering over words because I was trying to contain my tears.  Today, I fought the same battle, especially when I read the intercession to pray for those who passed before Nanny and who welcomed her into Heaven.  

I thought of Myla, and I knew Nanny had gotten to meet her.  

As I made my way back to my seat, I asked Nanny to hold her and kiss her for me.  Nanny responded by sending me a tiny white carnation at Communion.

After I received the Eucharist, I turned to walk back to my seat when I saw this small white flower on the sanctuary floor.  I knew it was mine.  It was as if I recognized my wallet or saw my purse hanging off the back of a chair.  Instantly I stooped down - without thinking - to pick up my flower.  

As soon as I held it, I realized it was from Nanny.  I believe it was her way of letting me know she'd heard my prayer.  She sent me my favorite flower - a carnation - in pure white, a sign of innocence.  And given how tiny it was, I knew it was for Myla.

I must've thanked God for this favor a million times.  I was so appreciative of this gesture of love.

I was holding John's hand, so I slipped the tiny bud between our intertwined fingers.  This is what it looked like:

See how tiny it is in comparison to our hands?  This tiny bloom of life briefly held, again, between the two of us.  It was just very, very special to me.  

God is so good to us, and for no other reason than love.  

<3

Rest in peace, Nanny.  We love you.

Last night, John and I were watching the latest episode of HIMYM (again, if you don’t want spoilers, STOP READING THIS).  I’ve always loved the characters of Marshall and Lily.  For those of you who don’t know the show, Marshall and Lily are college sweethearts who consistently exemplify unconditional and sacrificial love.  They really are the perfect example of what marriage should look like, and I love that the writers have always been dedicated to the success of that relationship.  

I’ve always related to Lily’s character.  She is a strong woman with very maternal instincts. She loves her husband deeply, adores children, is brutally honest when necessary, and is fiercely loyal to her friends.  She's even a teacher!  Lily is me with red hair and a much hotter body.  
 
Anyway, in last night’s episode, we come to find out that Lily has been harboring a secret.  I immediately said to John, “She’s pregnant!”

Turns out I was right.  The way the writers allowed the story to unfold was beautiful. Marshall, upon learning he was going to be a Daddy again, rushed to Lily’s side and confronted her with the news.  However, he didn’t confront her angrily.  Instead, he was emotional – 120% caught up in anticipation, hope, joy, and above all, love.  Love for Lily, love for his son, and love for the new life he and Lily had created.

And when Lily said she “just felt like” the baby was a girl, I was instantly a wreck.  I chewed my lip to the point of bleeding trying to keep myself from openly sobbing in front of John, but he saw I was upset and came to sit next to me on the couch to hug me.  He probably thought I was crying over Myla.

In truth, I sorta was, but my tears were lamenting more than miscarriage.

Marshall said something that stabbed my heart.  The exchange came after a very emotional argument Marshall and Lily had regarding moving to Italy vs. staying in the States (pitting Lily’s dreams against Mashall’s dreams).  Marshall selfishly wanted to stay in the States and made the decision without ever asking Lily’s input.  Lily, rightly hurt by this, angrily demanded to know why her dreams weren’t considered as important as Marshall’s. The argument ends with Lily sacrificing her dream of Italy for the sake of the family she loves, and Marshall apologizing for allowing his selfishness to come before his love for her.

However, upon learning that Lily is carrying their 2nd child, Marshall exclaims:

“Lily, we have to [go to Italy]!  You’re gonna live in Rome, and you’re gonna get your dream because you’re giving me mine, again.”
 
Cue tear cascade.

Lily had already given up her dream of Italy to support her husband and their (now growing) family.  That was a very, VERY difficult thing for her and she knew she’d wrestle with that baggage for the rest of her life.  But she did it.  Why?  Because she loves Marshall and their family enough to sacrifice of herself.
 
And in that instance, Marshall realized his erroneous thinking.  The whole season, he was focused solely on how he could convince Lily to make the sacrifice because his dream was, selfishly, what he wanted. 

Until news of the baby.  News of the baby's existence caused Marshall to instantly realize his priorities were skewed.  A judgeship was not his dream.  It’d be a nice goal to reach, but Marshall’s dream was, and always has been, to have a big family, the same as he’d grown up surrounded by.  Family is Marshall’s true dream, and he recognized that Lily had known (and been working towards) this all along.  Lily had always sacrificed for their shared dream of family, while Marshall simply enjoyed the fruits of that sacrifice.  

Realizing this, he took responsibility for sacrificing.  He wanted Lily to have the same opportunity to grasp her dreams because it’s what she’d always done for him.  He loved her and their family to the point of sacrificing the biggest goal he’s ever set for himself: judgeship.  He pushed his fear of leaving New York aside and trusted that his love for his family would be sufficient to weather the journey.

They are like the married couple in O. Henry’s story The Gift of the Magi.  Lily willingly handed over her hair (Italy) and Marshall gave up his watch (the judgeship). Deep, personal sacrifices in both cases that were gift wrapped in love.

And Marshall only understood this lesson after rearranging his priorities into their proper order: Lily first, family second, self third.  What caused the paradigm shift? News of the baby and his overabundance of love and excitement.  

THAT is why my body rocked with sobs.  Marshall’s response was what I’ve always envisioned for myself as a child – my future husband being just as excited and joyous as Marshall at news of a pregnancy… my future husband seeing these children as dreams come true.  I had visions of him jumping up and down in the bathroom with me as two little pink lines surfaced from a plastic stick.

I cried because my husband was so diametrically opposed to Marshall in this.  

There was no moment of joy when he learned of Myla.  There was no realization that his priorities were misaligned.  There was no moment of clarity in which he appreciated the terrible sacrifice I make on a daily basis so his dreams can be sought after.  Instead, there was disgust, fear, annoyance and frustration.  

How that wounds my heart.  

My dream, from my very first memories, revolve solely around a family.  Myla was, in many ways, my final chance at that family.  So when I mourn for Myla, I fully understand that I’m mourning for her and all the other children I’ve been denied.  

And I was angry.  Frustrated.  Jealous.  Desperate.  All because of a television series that showcased the response I long for but will never have.  Not even with Vincent. On both counts, John’s first reaction was fear and annoyance.  Disbelief. 

Never love.  Never joy.

And that is what absolutely kills me.

I felt so unappreciated that I free-fell into an intense depression. My mind wondered if John even loved me at all.  How could someone who loves me simultaneously seem to hate me so much?

Do I think John hates me?  Of course not.  But in that moment, it felt that way. Maybe because I hated myself being in this situation.  I don't know. It's easier for me to turn the upset feelings inward rather than outward.  

Anyway, after the show finished, we watched a 30 minute comedy to lighten the mood.  It worked well enough for John to think things were okay.  I was sour, though.  The self-loathing, anger, jealousy and despair were percolating in my mind the whole time.  So instead of watching another show, I went to bed.  Not that I was going to sleep.  Lord knows I wouldn't be doing much sleeping.  But at least I could shut myself off in the dark.  

John came up after me. He grabbed me close in bed and snuggled there.  He's a snuggler.  I hate snuggling.  Loathe it.  It's okay for all of three seconds before I get annoyed and want my space back.  However, I allowed it because I knew that was his way of trying to make me feel better.  I knew he needed to feel like he was helping.  Maybe that's all he thought he could do.  After all, John responds to touch, so it makes sense why he'd think I would react the same.

Honestly, though, I wanted no parts of myself let alone any parts of him.  
I'm terrible, aren't I?

*Sigh*

Anyway (and really, Mom, if you're reading this, just go ahead and avert your eyes), I realized in that moment that I did need John.  I needed to feel loved, because there was a part of me (the logical side?) that understood he loved me, but my heart was so full of hurt and grief that I couldn't feel it.  I couldn't process that he could love me given the broken and hurting state I was in.

So I kissed John.  I wanted him to kiss me back, to give me some tangible sign that he loved me.  He dutifully kissed me, but laid back on his pillow.  I pulled his face back to mine and whispered, "No.  Make love to me."

I don't normally do that.  I'm not the romantic type who whispers sweet nothings into dusky skies as my hair whips gracefully in a gentle breeze.  But in that moment, I recognized the marital act of making love as the only balm to soothe the aching desolation in my heart.  I needed my husband to love me.  I needed him to physically, emotionally and spiritually LOVE me, and a few pecks on the cheek weren't going to cut it.  Not when I was feeling so incredibly unloved.  

That was the first time I've ever "needed" sex.  I've enjoyed sex, sure.  I've wanted sex, definitely.  But I can't remember a time in which I urgently needed to give the fullness of myself and receive the fullness of my husband in the way that only married love can do.  Sex isn't just some repetitive thrusting based solely on biology.  That we, as a people, have turned it into so base a commodity is a travesty.  Looking at sex as a means to better know and understand the love of my husband... it was eye-opening for me.  

When the pain of loss seems too great to bear, and when the grief comes coursing in to crush the very breath from your lungs, fix your eyes on the Blessed Mother as she gazes upon her Son, gasping away His Life for love of us.

Allow the tears to come.  Offer your tears together with hers... hers that shine like diamonds and are collected by the angels as tokens of mercy.  

Accept the emptiness as it threatens to swallow you.  Allow the weight of desolation to shatter your heart - your very soul - but do not despair.

For where God destroys, He creates.  These mournful remains can thus rejoice and offer themselves as ready sacrifice for the new Life that comes in their place.

"I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you." Ez. 36:26

Blessed Mother, be my strength.  I am having a really, really hard time accepting Myla's absence right now.  

That television show... it was as if I was being pinned to a surgical table to have my heart sliced open by a scalpel.

But I see, I see.  The tears wash away the clutter from my eyes, and the crushing grief just reminds me that I have something left to offer.  It is yours... the pain and tears that echo softly your own.  Tender Mother, hold her for me.  Hold her and tell her all the things that I never got the chance to say.  Allow her to be the delight of your Son since she could not be the delight of mine.  Bring her often to see her Father so that He can tell her about the Daddy she left behind.  Guide me daily with Vincent so that I can be worthy of meeting her one day.

Grief, folks.  It still exists.  Every day.  Sometimes you're granted respite.  Sometimes you're asked to experience it more keenly.  But it's always there.  

That is at it should be.  There can be no grief if there is not, first, love.  And love is forever.

And love, Myla Therese, is exactly what you were created by.

A friend of mine posted the above video to Facebook.  I knew what it was as soon as I saw it.  A reader had sent it my way and said maybe I should think about sharing Myla's story as a way to break the silence.  

I'm not there yet.  But I am really, really glad that there is a push to get stuff like this out in the open.  

When my friend posted this, he said something great:  "I didn't realize the prevalence of this event. I love how families are allowing the child to remain a part of their family and honoring her/him at special times - birthday, thanksgiving, christmas and/or other winter holidays. For those who are uncomfortable with sharing this, GET OVER YOURSELF!  The child was part of life however briefly, is loved and will always be remembered."

I immediately thought, Right on, we WILL always love and remember them!  And of course you didn't realize the prevalence.  NO ONE realizes the prevalence because no one talks about it.

I then wondered why.  I mean, on a personal level, I know why I don't talk about it.  But on a grander scale, there had to be a reason.  It hit me, and I commented the following:

I know this is a good chunk of the reason I keep silent.  I'm not ready to handle their emotions on top of my own.  I'm not ready to handle the questions or the judgement or even the sympathy that might result from Myla's story being out there amongst family and friends.

But the point of this video is spot on, and I do think the reason so many of us don't speak out more is because our culture - a culture steeped in death and selfishness - cannot accept the grief of parents who prove their misguided stance on life within the womb is not compatible with reality.  We are a thorn in their logic.  

I attended the baby shower of a friend of mine today.  He became a dad several weeks early.  He and my sister were gunning for preemie bragging rights, I think, because his daughter was born in similar circumstances as Maria's son. Thankfully, both of them are fighters and are well on their way to fattening up enough to come home.  

God is good!

Today was my friend's shower.  He and his wife came with photos of their daughter in the NICU.  Of course she's beautiful!  :)  Please keep them in your prayers. We'll all be very relieved when they're ALL home safe and sound.

As for the shower, it was a surprising experience for me.

The entire way there, I was nervous.  I was afraid of facing a baby shower for a little girl.  I didn't know if I was "there" yet.  I was super happy for Jen and Leo, but I can admit that I am painfully aware that Myla never had a shower and will never have family and friends gathered to celebrate her.

Before you chide me for my selfishness, I already get it.  I felt guilty enough for even allowing myself to go down that road.  I'm being honest, though.  I was nervous because I wasn't sure if seeing all the pink balloons, baby clothes and baby things would overload me. 

I was one of the very first people there.  The place was adorably decked out in pink and purple balloons.  "It's a Girl" posters were everywhere, and the tables had cute little bookmarks made with their daughter's birthday and stats.  Immediately I realized none of my friends had yet made their entrance.

I sent out a text.  Dear God, let them be two seconds away!  I can't do this by myself!

To my horror, none of my friends were actually attending.  They sent me messages back with varying degrees of "I have other plans."

GAH.  

My heart actually sank and I contemplated turning around and leaving right then and there. I couldn't face this all by myself - not without a friend or two to talk about anything and everything to keep me from the pity-party brewing in my heart.

But no.  I quietly took a seat at an empty table.  Especially knowing that our other friends weren't coming, I couldn't leave Leo to think that none of us was there to celebrate with him.  So I sucked it up as best I could and braced for impact.  I begged God to take away my selfish grief and replace it with a magnification of the true joy I had for Leo, Jen and their little Maggie.  

I stayed in my secluded little spot for about 10 minutes as other people trickled in.  God was kind, because He sent my cousin's girlfriend as one of the attendees.  She and I aren't close (mostly because we never see one another), so she was the perfect person to snap me into "Happy Gina" mode.  Since I'm not comfortable enough to share personal details, my "auto-wall" went up and I slid into my "Everything is great, how are you?" game.  She's an actress, so my guess is that happens frequently with her, too.  Regardless, it was exactly the situation I needed to survive that moment.

Pretty soon, most guests had arrived.  My originally silent table had grown to encompass all of Jen's friends.  My cousin's girlfriend knew many of them from theater, so by the time Jen and Leo finally arrived, the table was so full that I was able to quietly excuse myself and sit with Leo, his best friend, Adam, and Adam's girlfriend.  Adam is an old friend of mine through my husband, so again God afforded me a great person to focus on so I didn't have time to dwell on any vestige of a pity party.  I really enjoyed spending the next two hours catching up with Adam and getting to know his girlfriend a bit better.  

When it was time to leave, I was able to go with with a sense of gratefulness and pride. Grateful, of course, that I'd been able to stay to celebrate with Leo and Jen.  Grateful, also, that God had sent me two key people to help me cope with what could have been a really difficult experience.  Pride, finally, that I'd made the decision to stick it out.  I really am proud that I was somehow able to make it through that shower intact and truly happy.  I felt no bitterness or envy, no jealousy or anger regarding the gift of their child.  On the contrary, God gave me what I requested - a magnified joy and a deep appreciation since I knew that Maggie wasn't just a gift for them... she was a gift for the world.

<3